Nothing like You and I
by Miss Pennyfeather
Summary: 'Grow old with me, Liz? In separate bedrooms' A Liz/Wesley fic, without the separate bedrooms. Just because this couple deserves so much love. Please read.


He was sleeping over. Just because he hadn't done that before. Nothing special about it.

There never was when it came to them. They did what was supposed to be done to get the relationship going. A bit of hugging here and there, some meaningful but altogether unnecessary conversations, two kisses (random ones) in the afternoon after watching Breaking Bad in close proximity, dinners when she was working late and he was too tired to cook for her.

They had been together for four months now. Things were running their course smoothly.

They hadn't slept together and didn't plan to. They didn't make much physical contact, even when they were bearable to one another.

As Wesley plopped down on her bed in his ridiculously yellow pyjamas, she couldn't help but point out that it had been completely unnecessary to bring his own pillow.

'It's not my fault your pillows are stuffed with sticks and stones, Liz-Pud,' he muttered, fluffing his pillow. 'And you know how it goes, sticks and stones can break your bones.'

Liz rolled her eyes.

'That's not how it goes.'

'Sure it does, Liz-Pud.'

She sighed. He called her Liz-Pud. As in Liz and pudding. Both in one. Yeah, that's how much he _loved_ her.

'And did you have to bring three pairs of socks?'

'Well, your bathroom has no venting system and it's quite damp in there. So three in case two get wet.'

'Makes sense to me,' Liz mocked, sliding under the covers.

She laid the big trays of cookies between them. Wesley brought the wine glasses.

They both settled down and started eating thoughtfully.

'You know, Liz-Pud, this is the first time I'm sleeping over and it's been four months. Aren't we rushing in?' he joked, raising a brow.

'Definitely. We should stop touching for a while. Like a year,' she said, munching on a cookie.

'You'd like that, you old fox.'

Liz groaned and looked away. He always managed to embarrass her with his witty lines, even when they were alone.

'No need to insult the animals,' she said, folding her arms.

'Well, Liz-Pud, foxes can grow old you know, I am not exactly insulting them. It's not really complex biology to figure out foxes can be called old...'

'I dare you to finish that argument,' Liz warned him, aiming a cookie his way.

He dropped it immediately. But he was getting bored only eating, so he decided to start another topic.

'So, tell me again why Jenna refused to play that Sue woman from...what was it called, Blee?'

'Glee, Wesley, Glee. I told you like seven times already. The whole world knows about that show,' Liz reiterated.

'Obviously, Liz-Pud, that's an erroneous statement since _I_ was not aware of this show, so that cancels out the hypothesis of the whole world being aware. And there's no reason for me to be aware of it. I may be British and have a charming sense of humour but even I have a dread of 'contemporary musicals', especially when they involve renditions of _Journey_.'

Liz chuckled and pushed a cookie in his mouth.

'I admit, that did kind of irk me too. I mean how many times do I have to hear that 'just a small town girl' line for it to grow old already?'

'Dreadful use of adjectives, if you ask me. And frankly, who would want to sing about a small town girl that cries all the time? Depressing stuff,' Wesley commented, nodding his head.

'I guess so,' she mumbles, grabbing another cookie. 'But I like Sue. She's mean and independent and totally kick-ass. Kinda like me.'

Wesley rolled his eyes.

'Yes, darling, keep living that tattered, old fantasy.'

'Shut up nerd,' she spat. 'It's not a fantasy. I can be mean-spirited like that too.'

'Yes, when you act like a Victorian middle-aged wife and refuse to let me in your apartment,' he commented annoyed.

'Well, it's my apartment and sometimes I don't want to be reminded I'm settling,' she muttered.

They both grabbed their wine glasses and started drinking silently.

'So, you still have not told me about Jenna,' Wesley began again awkwardly.

Liz sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She had been mean and bitchy again. She hated when that happened. Not because Wesley deserved her special kindness, but because he was a harmless fellow after all. And his intentions were nothing but decent. For the most part.

But she just couldn't cut him some slack. Everything he did, every little world, it made her want to jump on him.

Then she'd calm down and drink wine and they'd talk like normal people again.

'Well, she threw a huge tantrum about how we make her play Betty White parts all the time and how she could pull off playing Sue's twenty year old French niece if the script were better written.'

Wesley scoffed.

'That woman wouldn't know good writing if it hit her on the head. Or what twenty-year olds actually look like, for that matter,' he commented.

'I told her she should aspire to be like Meryl Streep,' Liz added. 'I think it's a perfect example for her...'

'Oh well, that's a bit mean Liz-Pud. She's not _that_ old, after all.'

'That's _not_ the point.'

'Maybe you could pull off a Meryl Streep, you old bird,' he said laughing.

Liz hit him hard in the ribs. 'For that comment you don't get to go to the bathroom tonight.'

'What are you saying?'

'That's right. I'm banning you from my bathroom.'

'You can't be serious!'

'Or can I?' Liz asked, smiling. 'You'll have to suck it up Snipes.'

Wesley through her a black look. She smirked and grabbed another cookie.

'Just because I compared to you to the mangnificent Dame Meryl Streep?'

'She's not a _Dame_.'

'Of course she is. Her and Dame Judy Dench both are.'

'That only works in England.'

'As if you could possibly know, silly...'

'Yeah, you are so not going to the bathroom tonight,' Liz repeated, glaring.

'Not even if I wrestle you?'

'Not even.'

'I am sure I can take you on if it comes to that.'

'I'm sure you can't,' Liz replied. 'I mean, you're not exactly in your best shape right now.'

'British men are always ready for a swing in the mud,' he commented philosophically.

'A swing in the...Nevermind, I forget you talk nonsense whenever you open your mouth.'

Wesley suddenly swung forward and almost overturned the cookie tray.

'What in the mother...?' Liz began.

But she swallowed her words. He grabbed her by her arms and twisted her backwards on the bed. She moved under him violently and one of her legs hit him in the stomach, but he kept his cool and pinned her hands over her head.

'See? I could immobilize you like this and then from this angle, I could jump from the bed and make a run for the bathroom,' Wesley explained, looking in her eyes.

Liz stared back. For a moment, she thought she saw something like sadness cross his clear, blue eyes.

She raised herself on her elbows.

'Fine, Karate Kid, you proved your point,' she said rolling her eyes and smiling, uncomfortable.

The usual painful silence slipped between them.

Wesley hesitated a moment or two before speaking again. His tone was serious now. And his expression was sour.

'My mother called today,' he said, matter-of-factly.

'Oh.'

'Yes.'

'What did she say?'

'She asked me when I was returning to England. She said it's about time,' he replied, looking away.

Liz felt something clench in her stomach, like a strong vice turning her bowels in and out. But it was probably too many cookies.

'Oh. She wants you to return. Of course. You're her son and you're far away. England's your home.'

'No, it's not. It used to be.'

'Still, don't you miss it?'

Wesley sighed.

'More than I should sometimes. But it's not worth discussing.'

'Well, I _want_ to discuss it.'

'Elizabeth...'

'Why did you even bring it up if we're not going to discuss it?'

'I thought you should know, that was all.'

'No you didn't. You wanted to talk about it. Look, if you don't feel you belong here or if life is better for you there, I guess you should listen to her,' she said quickly. 'No use being miserable here.'

'No use?' he asked hollowly.

'Well, come on Wesley. Look around. You're in a sham relationship with an unstable 40 year old who dislikes you deeply. Nothing wrong about that?'

'Do you want me to leave, Liz?' he asked.

He'd dropped the Pud. It was quite serious.

She was going to say 'I don't mind' or 'whatever makes you happy', or even 'it would be for the best'.

But it just felt wrong to...lie like that.

Four months is a long time for someone like her. You get used to the person around you so much it's crazy.

And she still hated him sometimes, but it was a hate she had grown fond of. She had grown comfortable with the hate, in a way. Besides, who was she going to loathe after this? Who was she going to focus her negative energies on? Who would she beat at Monopoly or Japanese trivia? Who was going to call Glee, Blee after this?

'Liz?' he asked again.

'I'm thinking.'

'Thinking?'

'Yeah, Wesley, you know I sometimes do that. When you aren't looking.'

'How bloody hard can it be to answer that question? Shouldn't it come naturally?'

'Nope, not with me.'

'Well, how long do you think it will take? Do I have time to run to the bathroom before you ban me from it again?' he asked annoyed.

She kissed him. Easily. On the lips.

Tentatively and almost shyly, like she was not sure what she was doing or whether she should be pulling back the minute his lips touched hers.

But he grabbed her chin softly and deepened the kiss.

Before she could wriggle out from under him, he circled her waist and pulled her to him.

They continued kissing quietly (because neither of them made a sound) next to the tray of cookies. She could taste the chocolate chip in their mouths. It was as if she was still eating. She sighed pleasantly. Could she ask anything else from a kiss?

When they stopped, they were lying on their backs next to each other and she was almost falling off the bed.

She dropped the tray at the foot of the bed and turned off her nightstand lamp.

They sat still in darkness for a while, just breathing.

His cold palms found her sweaty ones and he held them between his gently for some moments, barely touching them really.

Then Wesley shifted on the bed and half-rose, fishing for his slippers.

'Still have to go to the loo,' he announced, getting up.

When he reached the door, she whispered:

'Don't go.'

He smiled to himself sadly. He had no idea whether she meant 'don't go to the bathroom' or 'don't go to England'.

And he knew he would never find out.


End file.
